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Feet

Saturday, 28 April 2012

<=== Is the sight that greeted me when I glanced at The Toddler fast asleep next to me in my bed last night. Usually he sleeps in a fleece all-in-one over his jimmies as he undoubtedly wriggles and kicks off all blankets and that way I have the reassurance that no matter what acrobatics he practises, he'll not get cold. Not to mention he looks absolutely adorable in one. Yet The Toddler finds it hilarious to take it off, then hand back to me to put on again, rinse and repeat. Needless to say I don't share his enthusiasm in this game, not even a little, not even at all. I put my foot down last night and after putting it on for the second time I declared 'No More', so he snuggled down for a mammoth boobing session and fell asleep. Hence the gorgeous wee bare foot.

As a rule, I hate feet. I find them abjectly hideous. The Husband lives in the knowledge that he will never ever have his toes sucked nor a foot rub and if his foot so much as brushes any part of my anatomy, I'm liable to yelp, shudder then attack....viciously. The mere thought of adult feet (other then my own fair ones) sends my gag reflex into spasm and yet baby feet are simply adorable and beg to be sniffed affectionately and kissed. It seem's like only yesterday when The Toddler's feet were newborn, wrinkly and utterly scrumptious and the sight of plasters on them made me weep as they had to keep stealing his blood.

Now they're smooth and pesky and like to be 'sniffed' as you say 'pooooooooooooooooooo! stinky feet!' which makes The Toddler writhe in raptures of hysterics, squealing with delight.

On the subject of feet and indeed The Toddler, the poor darling managed to trip over thin air today. I was busy bollocking refereeing Thing One and Thing Two upstairs when I heard him wail. When I came down despite being comforted by The Husband he was still sobbing his little heart out, most unlike him. Usually when he has a little stumble he'll point to the offending appendage, hold it out to be kissed then be off again on his merry exploratory way. Scooping him up he immediately burrowed for booby and yet despite curling into my side his suckling was punctuated by small gasped sobs. Strange. Booby fixes everything usually.

He kept pointing at his wee foot, which seemed neither red, swollen nor bruised and yet he'd take a few steps then burst into tears. Up the stairs I carried him, slathered his entire foot/ankle/toes in Arnica cream, gave a spoonful of paracetamol and then snuggled him as he furled into me and fed and fed....and fed. What do you know, he's now walking fine. Arnica is an absolute wonder in this house, The Husband is a total and absolute sceptic yet I see proof of it's power all the time and simply wouldn't be without it.

I also love the undoubted comfort breastfeeding provides him whether he's tired, ill, frightened or hurt.....a cuddle and feed is like Valium to him, a total smile bringer.

I dread the day when his problems can't be cured with a simple kiss and a cuddle yet for now, i'll cherish them and be grateful that I can fullfill my job description of 'cure all' aka Mum.

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Hello!

The somewhat inane ramblings of a semi-crunchy 30-something stay at home mum based in the NW of the UK. Mum of Thing One (10yrs), Thing Two (8yrs) and The Dude (5yrs) & Moomin (Born Aug 2014). Wife of the long suffering Husband.
In search of the meaning of life, sanity and Gin.
Breastfeeding | Co-sleeping | Babywearing | Mental Health | M.E | Left-wing